The Flowers of Winter
by A. Farnese
Summary: Though many years have passed since Camlann, the pain of her loss still haunts Guinevere. Until one winter's night, someone comes to bring her one last gift. Canon, set long after ep513.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is another story based on a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke. It hit me all at once one day and wouldn't let me write anything else until I had it written down. I'll post the poem as the epilogue. Enjoy._

* * *

Guinevere sighed as she set the royal seal of Camelot aside for the last time. She spread her shaking hands on the desk before her, looking at them in wonder and tried to remember just when they had grown so gnarled, the skin so thin and spotted with age. What happened to all that time? Even now, all she needed to do was close her eyes to see Arthur again, his hair golden in the sunlight, those bright eyes full of warmth and love.

_And yet. . . _

Guinevere had reigned over Camelot nearly forty years, and only four of them had she been Arthur's queen. While her starkest memory was her last earthly sight of him- rushing to lead his men against Morgana's forces at Camlann- she refused to let that be the memory that lived on. She chose instead to remember him as he was on their wedding day, when both their lives had stretched out so wide before them and no strife could touch their happiness. A smile spread across her face as she looked around the room. _Their _room. At odd times, she imagined Arthur as he might have been, growing old alongside her, his hair turning silver and the crinkling laugh lines around his eyes deepening into wrinkles. He would have been as handsome in his old age as he had been in youth, she had long ago decided.

And in those moments when her grief overwhelmed her- even after so many years- she imagined the children they never had, the sons who would have taken his father's place and the daughters he would have doted upon. In her imagination, they all had Arthur's eyes, that crystal blue of a midwinter's noon. They were tall and beautiful, and upheld all those values their father held so dear. They seemed so real she would try to touch them, to hold those phantom children until tears blurred her vision and they disappeared into the world of What-Might-Have-Been.

In the days after Camlann, every twinge in her body, every moment of dizziness, every pang set her alight with a delirious hope that Arthur had left her with child before that final, terrible battle. But as the days turned to weeks, Guinevere realized all that hope was in vain. There would be no child, no blue-eyed son or daughter to carry on the line. She was the last of the Pendragons.

That knowledge, that last ember of hope burning out, had sent her into a despair she thought she would never emerge from. Until one dark Imbolc morning, she woke to find Merlin lighting her candles to remind both of them that the sun would return and that even this, the darkest of nights, would pass.

She patted the seal on the parchment, found it had hardened at last and lay it and the royal seal within a delicately carved wooden box. Her gnarled fingers had enough dexterity to manage the clasp, and she gave the little box a satisfied pat when it clicked shut. "Elayne?" she called, her voice as fragile as spun sugar.

"Yes?" The lissome girl's face appeared in the doorway, her fine blonde hair wreathing her face, a halo in the candlelight. Her pale beauty was a thing of morning and new worlds.

Guinevere smiled. "Take this box to Constantine in the morning. There are instructions for him, and a gift."

"Yes, Majesty," Elayne bobbed a curtsey, "Do you need anything else?"

_Stay awhile, child. Let me soak in your beauty. Remind me of what it is to be young and in love. Help me forget that time passes so quickly and so slowly. _Guinevere wanted to say those things, wanted to tell the girl this was the last she would see of her queen, but. . . These new days were for the young, and Elayne was a new bride. She longed to see her knight in shining armor as much as Guinevere had when she was young. "No, my dear. Go to your husband. Be happy." The girl's smile was a flash of sunlight in the darkening room. Then the door closed, and she was gone. "Be happy, my sweet girl," the aged queen whispered to the empty room as her thoughts turned melancholy, "Remember to live. And may you have all the happiness that Arthur and I never had." Tears spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, commanding her weary soul not to show such weakness. Not now. Tonight was not a night for grieving.

The old grief, once a bitter foe, had turned into an old friend. Time wore its ragged edges away, dulling it down until she could grasp it tight and move it into a new light that reflected not her old agonies, but new reasons to move forward. Old friends who had died too young, who had been gone so long, gave Guinevere the strength to carry on. She worked so their sacrifices would not be for nothing. For Gwaine, she built a kingdom worth dying for; for Elyan she made his new values into her own and lived for both them; for Lancelot, she worked to be a queen worthy of his endless devotion. For Arthur, she made it her life's work to make his most ardent hopes and brightest dreams a reality.

It had taken all the remaining years of her life, but it was all worth it. Albion's golden age had dawned, and for years, there had been no war in the five kingdoms. She knew she had fulfilled Arthur's hopes the first time she heard the people say it- _'In Arthur's day, kings made peace. And their queens kept it_.' Now, the people remembered not the strife of Arthur's youth, but the victories that had ensured that peace.

And last of all, for the one who had died after Camlann but still lived- for Merlin- she had struggled to forge a future worthy of his endless, unnamed sacrifices.

After Camlann, after Percival returned with that hateful news, Merlin had disappeared. Days and weeks went by without a word until they all thought the sorcerer had abandoned the world. Then one wintry day, in the wake of a rain-soaked wind, he returned to them a changed man, silent and weary, and lost in his own sudden stillness. He grew thinner, his skin bleached pale as the lucid moon, as though he had been distilled until only his deepest essence remained. He came and went like the wind, and men feared the grief dwelling in his eyes.

Until one night, after vanishing for a season, he reappeared with a new purpose burning within and a new light shining in his eyes, igniting as the first star at the dawn of time. _'I remember now, Gwen, what all of it was for_' he had said, his first words since Camlann, _'Arthur will return. When Albion's need is greatest, he will rise and reign as king once more. And I will be there to serve him again.' _Life slowly returned to Merlin, though in a different form. No longer a man of their world of flesh and stone, but a man who lived at the intersection of the waking world and the dream; the world of the living, and the land of the dead. In time, she began to understand that while she lived for the future, Merlin lived for all times- the past, the present, and the far-flung future.

Guinevere dismissed her idle maunderings and slowly pushed to her feet. Her bones protested the movement, reminding her that she should have been in her warm bed, not shuffling about her chambers on a snowy night. But winter had taken root in the queen's bones a long time ago and, like her grief, she had learned to manage it. Her fingers only shook a little as she pulled the jewels from her ears and put the necklace away. The only finery she kept was her wedding ring, still as bright as the day Arthur had placed it on her finger. Her gown was of deep red velvet trimmed with gold; only the finest would do for this night. The cloak took longer than she thought to drape around her shoulders, the hood covering her coiled white braids. She had only just set the jeweled cloak pin in place when the breeze came.

Warm it was, scented with spring, rain, and ten thousand longings. She turned to find him standing there, looking as he ever did- tall and too thin, his skin pale as moonlight and hair as black as a raven's wing. His eyes were the clear blue of the mid-summer sky, and Guinevere swore, when she looked into them, she saw the depths of stars held within. "My Queen," his smile was bittersweet as he clasped her aging hands in his ever-youthful, "Are you ready?"

"In just a moment," She cast her gaze about the room, at the candles a young Merlin had lit for them, the desk where Arthur had gone about the kingdom's business, the bed where she had curled up next to him and he had whispered words of love into her ear. So much had changed. So very little had changed. "We had had some grand times in this old castle, did we not?"

"We did." Merlin's fingers tightened on hers. "And we will again."

"Everything returns in time, doesn't it? In a new form, perhaps, but it returns all the same." The light in Merlin's eyes confirmed what her heart told her was true. She smiled up at him, at peace at last. "I'm ready."

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

She did so, felt the rain-soaked breeze wrap around them, felt the stars wheel around them, and Queen Guinevere left Camelot for the last time.


	2. Chapter 2

"Open your eyes."

The winter air was cold against her face. When she opened her eyes, Guinevere gasped at the sight the greeted her- a mountain valley awash with starlight. Far away, the pale mountains shone like polished ivory while new fallen covered the dormant land, turning it into an expanse of glittering diamonds unbroken until her gaze reached the lake. Had she seen those silent black waters anytime before this night, she might have been afraid. But now. . . now she understood. That fearful darkness was a refuge of sorts; a place to rest her weary soul after all the toil and heartbreak of her life. Guinevere looked up at Merlin to find him looking out over the water, the deepest of longings in his eyes. "What will I find there?"

"I don't know," he said. He met her gaze. His smile turned sweet and bitter all at once, "Those answers are not for me to see."

She nodded, a soft murmuring of fear and doubt suddenly rising in her heart. "Merlin. . . Did I do right to name Constantine as my heir? Will you watch over him, over Camelot when I am gone?"

"He's no Arthur," Merlin half-laughed, "But no son of Leon's could lead the kingdom astray. And if he does, I'll give him that disapproving look I gave him when he was being young and foolish. That'll straighten him out quickly enough."

Guinevere laughed, content with his answer and looked out across the lake again. There was a boat at the shore. She hadn't seen it before. Just a little boat, enough for two people to sit in. It was filled with flowers- roses out of season, pink and white and red. Dozens upon dozens of roses, filling the frigid air with their sweet perfume. Just like the flowers at her wedding. Arthur had complained about their numbers at first, but the next day he watched the servants' children play amongst the wilting blossoms, tossing the petals high into the air, dancing and jumping amidst the shower of color. Guinevere hadn't missed the wish in his eyes as he watched them. She hadn't missed the melancholy in Merlin's either. She took his arm and laid her head against his shoulder. "When will I see you again?"

He wrapped his free arm around her and held her close. "To you, it will feel like tomorrow."

Guinevere didn't miss the note of envy in his voice, much as he tried to cover it. "So I will step quickly through the years, while you must take the long road?"

"Yes. My journey will be a long one. It is my blessing, and my curse," he said. Immortality. . . When had she realized Merlin wasn't aging like the rest of them were? She had confronted him about it one day, his answer nearly breaking her heart all over again. _'I am meant to serve Arthur again. To wait until his return, to help guide him when darkness falls over Albion again. It is my punishment for failing him. And my reward for waiting through whatever ages may come until then.'_

"Think of the grand adventures you'll have. The people you will meet, the places you'll go, all the things you'll see and learn. Things I could never imagine," Guinevere said. She heard his faint scoff and patted his hand. As much power as he had, Merlin never could hide anything from her. She knew the fears that haunted him when he faced the future, the loneliness he would endure, the pain and loss. "All these years, you've given me good counsel. Do me a last favor, and take some of my advice?" Merlin nodded once, his eyes glistening. "Don't get so wrapped up in the future that you forget that you have a life to live. Let love find you now and then. You will lose it in the end- we all do- but it makes us whole anyway. So don't be afraid of love."

"Is that an order, My Queen?"

"My wish." She had a heart full of wishes. Only time would tell if they ever came true. _'But give me this one, little wish,' _she implored Fate. '_Be kind to him.'_

"Oh, I will miss you, Guinevere. You're the only one I have left now." Merlin held her close again and laid a kiss on her forehead. She felt his tears drop against her skin and reached a shaking hand to brush the rest of them off his cheek before he could pull away.

"Don't weep for me overlong, Merlin. You told me we would see each other again. You told me there were no true good-byes."

"You use my own words against me," his voice wavered.

"I always have." She looked out across the water again as the full moon cleared the trees, sending rays of silvery light across the lake to illuminate a single tower rising above the island beyond. She heard something like silvery music, or the tolling of bells across a vast distance. "This is the Lake of Avalon?"

"Yes. I brought Arthur here after. . . After." Even now, the thought of Arthur's death left him broken. "Come. Let me show you something." He helped her to the lake's edge, the snow crunching softly under their feet until they knelt by the still water. He gripped her hand tightly, a melancholy brightness in his eyes as he looked deep into hers and stretched his hand flat against the surface. "Look out across the water," he whispered.

She saw nothing at first. Just the water, calm as glass with the faintest of ripples moving away from Merlin's hand. Then, at the corner of her vision, a spark of light. And another, and another, fading in and out like fireflies on Midsummer's eve. A handful of heartbeats passed before _they_ appeared. Tiny creatures barely larger than her hand hovering and flying over the water, glints of light trailing in their wake. Their forms were human, but not quite, winged and awash in myriad colors as they fluttered and floated above the lake's inky blackness.

"What are they?" Guinevere gasped in delight.

"The Sídhe. They are the guardians of Avalon. Most people can only see them once in their entire lives," he whispered and squeezed her hand again before hugging her close and laying a soft kiss on her forehead.

"It's beautiful," Guinevere breathed. She rested her head against Merlin's chest and closed her eyes to rest for a moment. The valley fell silent though a cold breeze blew, cutting through her thick woolen cloak before turning warm again. Then there was a sound of water lapping against a boat as the stars wheeled madly overhead; of wind rushing through the trees. A distant cry of aching loss echoed across the water as she stepped onto the far shore.

She stood straight, her feet steady as they had not been for years. She looked down at her hands to find they were smooth again, her fingers no longer gnarled with age. A golden light fell over her as a door in the tower opened before her, silhouetting a familiar figure she almost feared to acknowledge, though her feet carried her ever forward. Tears blurred her vision until familiar fingers brushed them away and tucked the unruly strands of her dark hair behind her ears.

"Guinevere?" he whispered, "Is it really you?"

She finally dared to look up into the wintry-blue eyes she had never forgotten, drank in all the details of the face missing from her life for so long. Her laughter rang across the island, the most joyful sound it had ever heard. "Arthur," she whispered as his arms encircled her, holding her close. Guinevere melted against him, listening to the steady thrum of his beating heart as it cried out to hers, calling out that she was home at last.

"Arthur."


	3. Epilogue

_Girl's Melancholy  
_- Rainer Maria Rilke

A young knight comes to mind  
almost like an old saying.

_He came._ Thus sometimes in the grove  
the great storm comes and wraps around you.  
_He left._ Thus often the wild benison  
of the great bells breaks off  
in the midst of prayer...  
Then you want to scream in the silence,  
and yet only weep softly inside,  
deep in your cool shawl.

A young knight comes to mind,  
riding far in full armor.  
His smile was so soft and fine:  
like gleaming on old ivory,  
like homesickness, like a Christmas snowfall  
in the dark village, like turquoise  
around which many pearls are fashioned,  
like moonlight  
on a favorite book.


End file.
